


my broken chest filled with paper-mache

by leslytherinphoenix



Category: Jessica Jones (TV), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: F/F, Post-Canon, goddamn how are we gonna tag Trish
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-23
Updated: 2015-11-23
Packaged: 2018-05-03 02:57:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,016
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5273885
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/leslytherinphoenix/pseuds/leslytherinphoenix
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Trish can still hear Hope Shlottman's voice on the phone, tired and desperate and so, so young.</p>
<p>-</p>
<p>In which there's still no way to be sure Jessica won't leave. <br/>One-shot. Implied feelings, set after the end of the last Jess/Trish scene in 1x13.<br/></p>
            </blockquote>





	my broken chest filled with paper-mache

Trish hesitates, hand resting on the gearshift. She can still feel Jessica’s hands on her back, around her waist. Instinctively, Trish shivers. She thinks about crawling into her own skin and finding a place where none of this has happened, but Jessica touches her arm, makes an impatient motion, and Trish knows this is real. “I--are you--are we--” she starts, and fumbles through the words.  

 

“Just take me home,” Jessica says. She doesn’t make eye contact.

 

Something snaps in Trish’s chest. The hours and hours she spent waiting after Jessica disappeared come back to her, a frightfully vivid montage of work, staring at the phone, eating, training, falling asleep on the couch in case Jessica shows up on the balcony, googling Jessica’s name, desperately trying to forget for a day or two before waking up and repeating the whole damn thing over again. Pathetic. Six months spent waiting for a word, anything, and getting nothing. Trish lifts her hand off the gearshift and it’s trembling, still is when she lets it settle on the car seat. She clears her throat and tries to think  “Is this going to be like last time?”

 

Her voice is trembling, too.

 

Pathetic.

 

Jessica still won’t look at her. “It wasn’t--”

 

“He’s not coming back this time,” Trish says, “you saw to that yourself.” Jessica stares out of the window. “You’ll be fine without me, Jess.” Trish bites her lip. “You won’t need a--a plane ticket to Hong Kong, you won’t need money; that’s the only reason you talked to me so I just--” she breaks off. The silence that follows is painful but it seems like continuing to speak would be worse.

 

Nodding as if she understands, Jessica turns to Trish. “Well, I’m sure I’ll need money eventually.” Her voice is flat, but amused.

 

“You know I didn’t mean it like that.”

 

“Then how did you mean it?” Jessica props herself up against the backrest of the car seat, tilting her head while she looks at Trish, who stares up at her and sighs.

 

“I don’t want to drop you off and see you disappear into that apartment building and never hear from you again.”

 

Wordlessly, Jessica looks at Trish.

 

“I can’t keep losing you,” Trish continues, eyes flickering away from Jessica’s gaze. “I want-- God damn it, even if I’m just around to keep covering your ribs in Saran wrap--”

 

Jessica noticeably winces at the thought and slides down in the seat.

 

“--I can’t deal with another six months like the ones before.” Trish stops, takes a breath. “I won’t.”

 

“You were in the hospital. You almost died in the ambulance. Simpson could’ve beat the shit out of you,” Jessica says, quietly but forcefully. “Before that, you were safe.”

 

“I was miserable,” Trish corrects her. “Six months, Jess. You didn’t call, you didn’t-- no indication you were even alive--I’d rather--you needed space and I get that, but--”

 

“It won’t happen again.” Jessica stares blankly ahead, fingers tapping against her leg.

 

“I don’t know if I can believe you.” Trish looks down at her own hands, at her poor chewed-up nails (“It’s unprofessional,” her mother would snarl at her, but she could never quite shake the habit). She can still feel Kilgrave on her lips, festering, but mostly she remembers Jessica, Jessica looking her dead in the eye, Jessica triumphant. It’s over (thank god) but they thought it was over when he got hit by a bus and there’s no indication this aftermath will be better, even though Kilgrave isn’t coming back.  Jessica won’t be fine. Nightmares don’t go away just because the subject is dead, even if Jessica did it herself, even if she felt his bones snap under her fingers and his face twist into one last grimace before finally going blank. Too many people are dead. Trish can still hear Hope Shlottman’s voice on the phone, tired and desperate and so, so young.

 

_“You’re moving out?” Trish stared in shock at the stack of cardboard boxes in Jessica’s room. “Did you pack this overnight?”_

_“Superstrength, remember?” Jessica picked three boxes up at once. “I can’t keep doing this. It’s too much.”_

_“I thought therapy was helping.” Trish crossed her arms and sighed, watching Jessica move towards the door. She’d lost weight, was smaller than usual, and hid under jackets and chunky scarves almost constantly._

_“If I needed street names I could’ve used Google maps,” Jessica said bitterly._

_“If you just gave it time--”_

_“I don’t want to give it time,” Jessica snapped, stepping through the door frame. Trish moved out of the way, eyes downcast. “I don’t want--”_

_“Look, just wait,” Trish interrupted her, shaking her head. “I’ll help you when I get back from work. You don’t have to do this alone. I’ll drive. I’ll--I’ll get a moving truck to drive you.”_

_Jessica set the boxes down and straightened her back, placing her hands on her hips. “Okay.”_

_Trish turned to go, then hesitated. “You won’t leave?”_

_Jessica nodded, eyes flickering around the room. She already had her coat on. “I won’t leave.”_

_When Trish came home four hours later, the boxes were there and Jessica was gone._

 

It’s cold. Trish wishes she’d worn a coat and fiddles with the car’s heat settings. “Trish,” Jessica says, and Trish turns her head to look at her. “I won’t leave.”

 

“If there were any guarantee of that…” Trish lets her voice trail off. “I’m sorry.”

 

A moment passes. Jessica clears her throat. “Don’t apologize.”

 

“I’m--”

 

“The guarantee is that just because I never say something doesn’t mean I don’t mean it when I do.”

 

Trish blinks at her for a few seconds, trying to make sense of the sentence. “Wait, what do you….” it dawns on her slowly, sleep-deprived brain struggling to put the words together in a logical sense. “Oh.”

 

Jessica leans back in the car seat, squaring her shoulders. “Is that enough?”

 

Trish puts the car in drive and begins to navigate out of the parking spot. Lips quirking with the hint of smile, she nods to herself. “That’ll do.”  

  
  



End file.
